


Encroachment

by Galadriel1010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Valentine's Day, middle aged romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-17 15:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Galadriel1010/pseuds/Galadriel1010
Summary: Greg contemplates his first Valentine's Day with Mycroft and feels very middle-aged.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	Encroachment

**Author's Note:**

> For the Mystrade Reading Club. Happy Valentine's Day

Christmas ended abruptly, as it tended to these days; the turning of the year was marked by the banishment of red and gold packaged chocolates and biscuits to the reduced shelves, to be replaced by serried ranks of easter eggs and slightly-too-cheerful bunnies and, at the end of the aisle, a single narrow rack of red and pink teddies and hearts, lying in wait to swamp the whole aisle later in the month.

Greg eyed them up warily with the bleary gaze of a middle-aged man dragging himself home from a murder scene at too-close-to-midnight. He had a 75% off box of Heroes in one hand and, in the other, balanced it with the healthy choice' Thai curry he was definitely going to eat when he got home. Giving one of the cheerful teddies a particularly disdainful glare, he trudged past it to the self-service checkouts, and was still thinking about it when he got outside into the freezing January rain and ripped into the Heroes for a Dairy Milk.

Valentine's Day. Not something he'd thought about as more than a vague annoyance for a while. He and Sandra had made a point of going out for it right up to the end, murders and projects permitting, but that was years back now, and even before they'd split he'd started his regular drinks with Mycroft and devoted a solid chunk of Thursday nights in February to complaining about the invasion of pink, the commercialism, and the ludicrous expectations. Mycroft had his own tricks for avoiding the occasion, which had always sounded a lot better than Greg's night spent watching kids barely out of nappies proposing to each other and wondering when he and Sandy got old.

That was before, though. Before everything changed.

He let himself into the flat, kicked his boots off by the door and hung his coat, abandoned the curry in the fridge and the chocolates on the kitchen table, and just about managed to get his clothes into the laundry basket instead of in a heap next to it before he slid into bed. Mycroft rolled vaguely in his direction, grunting contentedly when Greg got an arm around him and pulled him in. "How was your scene?" he slurred. "Still dead?"

"Very dead. Sorry I'm cold and wet."

Mycroft huffed at him and was asleep again moments later. Greg envied him, and lay awake wondering until his feet finally warmed enough for him to sleep.

The next day and several after it were busy in a frustrating, familiar sort of way. His dead body was a small-time drug dealer who'd annoyed the wrong sort of people as a change from annoying the vice squad. It hadn't worked out for him. The suspects all had cast iron alibis of the type laid on weeks in advance, not a single witness had seen the crime, and the murder weapon, if they ever found it, would have passed through three sets of hands before Greg got home with his curry and chocolates that night. Before long the details would be boxed up and passed over to one of the organised crime units to join the pile of similar cases and, if they were lucky, get dragged out before a judge one day down the line when they finally managed to make something stick to one of the bastards. Leaving no stone unturned was all well and good, but sometimes it was really obvious that someone else was turning them back over behind you.

Before he knew it, it was February and the question he'd been studiously avoiding still hadn't been answered or, really, asked.

He got home after another long and fruitless day in the office and, to his surprise, found Mycroft in the kitchen making tea. Greg greeted him with a kiss and accepted his offer of a brew gratefully. "You're done early", he commented. "Should I be worried?"

"Alas, not done. Merely paused." Mycroft glanced over at the shopping bag he'd dumped by the kitchen door and raised one eyebrow. "You only went in for milk."

"I always only go in for milk. But I did get it." He went back to retrieve it – almond as an experiment neither of them was yet convinced about but they were stubborn enough to persist with – and handed it over. "I did get you Jaffa Cakes though."

"Gregory…"

Greg grinned back at him and stretched. He knew he wasn't fooling Mycroft, but on principle he tried to hide his nerves. "The pink hearts and red roses are making a valiant assault on the bunnies and chicks."

"I noticed. The adverts are all ghastly, too." Mycroft set Greg's mug down on the table and returned to his own pot, still steeping gently on the counter. "I thought we might start laying in provisions, then we can barricade the door on the 13th and not leave the house until the 15th."

"You have the best plans." Greg's shoulders relaxed a little. "We could try to get a delivery from the market on the 14th, if they can fit us in. Then I can do us dinner, if you like?"

Mycroft smiled at him. "Sounds ideal. Have you the day off, or should I arrange it?"

"I'm sorted, assuming no one dies inconveniently." Greg sipped at his tea and sighed. "I love you."

"I know." Mycroft's hand squeezed his shoulder gently as he passed, heading back to his study. "I'll be with you as soon as I can be. An hour maximum."

Greg smiled into his mug, finished his tea, and made a start on dinner. They were too old for that sentimental rot, after all. And besides, he liked the idea of having Mycroft to himself for a day far more.


End file.
